Aftermath
by NellyN
Summary: Six months after the Peacekeeper Wars, new threats and mysteries bring Crichton, Aeryn and Moya to the Hynerian Empire, which has been destabilized by Rygel's rebellion.
1. Honeymoon

They dropped down from the ceilings and the vents like rain: ants. Tiny silver and red segmented bugs. As they landed on Moya's floor, they crept toward each other, their little feet so light on the ship's skin that it was impossible for Moya or her Pilot to sense them. Where they met they linked jaws and legs until they formed a superstructure about the size of a dinner plate. This silver object inched across the floor until it came to an exterior wall. Slowly, slowly the ants drew the moisture and flexibility from the biomechanoid's skin. Moya felt a burning sensation, but it was so light and so distant it was like the touch of a serrated leaf, or a single ray of sun.

Pilot did not stir.

The ship was peaceful. Peaceful and at peace. She and Pilot had never had so few worries or so long a time of true rest. They had been placed with kindness in a restorative nebula, and they had remained there for some months. There would be time someday for more exploring but there was so much to recover from. Moya had entered a time of dormancy and languor.

So had her small crew. Aeryn Sun sat in bed reading a Shakespeare play and taking mental notes on what to quiz John on. She supported the book the with her knees, drifting between a dreamworld and the warmth and quiet of Moya. One of her hands rested on John Crichton's head. He slept deeply, nestled against her hip. She could have set a watch by his deep breathing. It made her happy when he rested like that, and when he was close by. She had been happy a lot lately.

Not far from their bed a small baby slept in a bassinet.

She heard a sound like metal grinding against metal. She licked her fingertips and started to turn a page, then stopped, perfectly still.

No other sounds.

She reached down and closed her hand on John's bare shoulder. He woke without startling and blinked a few times. He kissed her hip and pinched it. "Hey baby. How you doin'?" Then feeling the tension in her body, he snatched his pulse pistol from the bedside table, swung it around, and pointed it at the door. He was breathing very hard now, shivering, and his body was drenched in sweat. Wildness passed across his face and exposed itself in his eyes. His jaw was set. The tip of the gun bobbed up and down. Aeryn put her hand on her own gun underneath her pillow.

Wait—

Nothing came.

John groaned and put his forehead on her shoulder. "Jesus." He turned his face so he could lean on her and put his hand to his chest. " _Frell_."

"I'm sorry," said Aeryn.

"What? No, baby. How often have I done that to you?"

"This week?" He had in fact woken her from a dead sleep twice the night before because of a natural sound from Moya. They both had warriors' hair-trigger instincts and would probably never again feel truly safe. They had trouble even sleeping at the same time.

"God you're beautiful," said John.

"I love you too," said Aeryn. "Go back to sleep."

"Dunno if I can."

"Okay," said Aeryn, smiling a little.

"I'm all worked up now." He trailed a hand down her arm, then closed his fingers around hers and brought her hand to his mouth. He kissed her fingertips, her knuckles, the soft spot at the base of her thumb. "In English they call this the Mount of Venus," he said.

"Really?"

"Yeah. There are these people on Earth who think you can tell the future from the lines on your hands. The different parts. And that's the name of one of the parts."

"So your world has seers too." It was a side of Earth she had not really gotten to experience during their short visit. Before meeting John, Aeryn's life had little room for mysticism, beyond the usual military superstitions. She found them fascinating if not convincing. Prayer had saved her once.

"Uh-huh." He turned her hand over and traced the lines with his fingertip. "This one is called the head line. The life line." He lingered over one. "The heart line."

"And what does that one say?"

He turned her hand for better light and pretended to squint at it. "It says," he pronounced, "that you will always be loved. And that you need to be more careful loading pulse charges because you have burn scars."

"Intriguing. Did a girl teach you to read palms?"

John nodded. "Yep."

"Ah," she said. "And the John Crichton story continues to unfold."

"Yes it does," he said, grinning.

She put her hand under his chin and kissed him, and he relaxed toward her, resting a warm heavy hand on her hip, rubbing a sensitive spot there with his thumb. She was taken by the taste of him, sweet and acorn, and found that she wanted him again very badly. The scare she'd had had sharpened her senses and nested in her bones and there really was no end to her wanting of him.

Something about the size of a small dog landed on the end of the bed and sank its teeth into her bare foot.

Aeryn grabbed John's pulse pistol, aimed and pulled the trigger three times in the space of a blink. There was a squeal. The blankets at the end of the bed stirred but there was nothing to see. And then it was all movement and yelling and the flash of pulse fire, John snaking his arm underneath the pillow and getting her gun. Another creature was on them, _in the bed._ Aeryn caught it with a knee and kicked it hard across the room. She heard a sound as it smacked into the wall. The crunch of bone. She fired at the place where she heard noise.

The baby began to whine.

"Where the hell is it?" said John. "I don't see anything."

"Frelling—shimmer—suits—"

"Sonofa _bitch_." John drove an elbow into something. A line of red scratches appeared on his face, seemingly from nowhere. He rolled his attacker over and shot it point blank. The bed was suddenly covered in thick black blood. The creatures who attacked them were wearing shimmers, visible only when they were in fast motion. John kicked another one off of him. Then Aeryn saw him stop for just a second. _Thinking._ Then two small, strong, invisible hands closed on her throat and cut off her air. John fired widely—and hit the lights, which flickered and went out. The room went dim.

"HEY! PILOT!" he shouted.

Pilot woke up and cut the power to the hallway as well. They were suddenly in pitch darkness. Now the shimmers were blind as well, and she and John wouldn't be distracted by looking for things they couldn't see. Aeryn slid off the bed and hit the floor hard, crushing something underneath her. The choking fingers loosened. She jammed her gun into a small ribcage and pulled the trigger. She could tell she was bleeding from her foot, but there was no pain—yet. Her eyes searched the room for the telltale shimmer, and the scrabbling noises. John pulled off eight shots in quick succession. Aeryn stayed low to the ground. She listened. She heard one soft noise, aimed over the bed, and fired.

Silence. Baby Dar gave a high-pitched cry.

"Babe?" said John.

"I'm all right," said Aeryn. "You?"

"Oh, peachy," said John. "I'm covered in blood and slime."

"Yours?"

"Some of the blood. Maybe."

"Bad?"

"Nah," said John. He tapped his coms. "Pilot. Lights, situation report, damage assessment, anything. Do we need to be in motion right now?"

A soft, thoughtful voice came over the coms. "I don't… think so, Commander."

"You don't _think_ so?"

The hallway lights came back on, and then a few yellow emergency lights in the room. John leaned on the baby's cradle, his gun wavering between the ceiling vents and the front door. Nothing else attacked them. John took the fussing baby and pressed him to his bare chest, where Dar nestled his face into his father's shoulder. Still sweeping the room with Aeryn's gun, John patted the tiny diapered bottom.

"There is a small hull breach on Tier 9 but the DRDs have already begun to repair it," said Pilot.

"Is that how they got in?"

"Yes," said Pilot. "They were using… some kind of stealth technology."

"'Some kind of stealth technology,' " John repeated. "You know, Pilot, you are a real font of exposition. Are there any more hull breaches?"

"None that I can detect."

"None that he can detect," said John to Aeryn. She shrugged.

They pulled some clothes on, tossing their guns from hand to hand as they dressed. John weighed Aeryn's pulse pistol in his hand. "Girl gun," he said.

"Yes, well," said Aeryn. "A clean shot always has the advantage over a big blunt instrument."

"Always?"

She smiled. "Oh, yes."

"Well you'll have to be patient with me," said John. "I'm still learning."

They traded weapons across the bed. Then John handed Dar to Aeryn and bent over the bed. His new gun, Ruby, had a small flashlight in the nose, which he shined over the shimmer that was leaking blood. He nudged the body with the tip of his weapon. Then while Aeryn covered him he put his gun down and cut the shimmer suit open with his pocket knife. His fingers shimmered and disappeared as he pulled the wrapping from the body and tossed it aside.

They looked at each other, then down at the corpse, then up at each other again. Aeryn shifted Dar onto her hip and held his head away from the sight. He was only six months old and he wouldn't remember. But there were things a baby shouldn't see. Things _their_ baby shouldn't see.

Lying on their bed, its face and ribs burnt and distorted by pulse fire, was a small gray-green thing not much bigger than a Scottish terrier. But no critter this. John shredded a thumbnail with his teeth. "It's a Hynerian."

Aeryn nodded. "A female. See the elongated earbrows?"

"I saw the jewelry," said John.

Next to its small hand was a glass knife. John frowned at it. Then they both took a slow turn around the room peeling shimmer suits from the bodies. They were all young Hynerian females.

"This is an assassination squad," said Aeryn.

John sat on the bed. The adrenalin was draining off but he didn't put his gun away. He grimaced and rubbed the back of his neck. "We're gonna need a new mattress."

"John," said Aeryn softly. "The bassinet."

There was a shimmer near the baby's bed. A little movement. John got up, stretched, strode over and tore the shimmer suit off. The female had been wounded, probably mortally, though who knew with Hynerians and, really, who cared. She had large yellow eyes and she smelled of swamp and the aluminum smell of Hynerian blood. She was draped over Dar's little cot with one arm extended. If the baby was in bed she could have laid hands on him. And clutched in her extended arm was a long, thin glass spear. She spasmed and trembled. She coughed and blood spilled from her lips.

"Please, garda," she murmured, in a high, breathy voice. "Please, please, please."

John had gone very cold and still. "He's six months old."

"Please," gasped the girl. "I know you're a kind ser."

"He is. Six. Months. Old."

"Please… help… me…"

"All right." John put Ruby to her head and pulled the trigger.

Silence.

He's getting faster, Aeryn thought. She hated that, but she loved it too. Decisiveness suited him. Uncertainty ground him down. After a time she said, "John." He flinched at the sound of her voice. She came and sat beside him and took Ruby from him. She laid Dar in his lap, tore a strip of fabric from their ruined bed, and cleaned dots of blood from his face and hands. "Look at me," she said. It took him a moment but he lifted his chin. His eyes were gas-flame blue.

"She was dead anyway," said Aeryn.

He nodded.

As they sat together three DRDs rolled into and began cleaning and sweeping, heating and blasting away, cleaning scorch marks.

"You know I love you, right?" said Aeryn.

"This is over," said John.

"Yes," said Aeryn. "We've got to go to work now."

The baby stirred and cooed and John reached out to touch his head, something he had done a thousand times before to soothe him. But he stopped himself. He put his hand down and swallowed. "Pilot," he said.

"Yes, Commander."

"What have we gotta do to make Moya ready for wormhole travel?"

"Commander—"

"Hang tough, buddy," said John. "I know you're scared. Me too. But it's Scooby Doo time."

"I was going to say," said Pilot coolly, "that Moya's time here has been helpful to her. She is also… upset that our defenses have failed you. She is prepared to go where you direct her, including through the wormhole network if you believe that is the best course of action."

"Good girl," said John. "Tell her we're going home."

"To Earth?"

"Ha," John scoffed. "Not a chance." He put on a low, haughty voice and made a regal gesture. "To the Great, Bountiful and Eternal Royal Empire of Hyneria, of course."

"Oh," said Aeryn.

"Problem?" John asked.

"No," she replied. "It's just… surprising."

"Why?" said John. "All our friends are there."

"You promised Rygel you would never go to Hyneria."

"It was a joke," he said.

"It was not a joke."

"I thought it was pretty funny."

"Excuse me, Commander. Officer Sun."

"Yes, Pilot," they said together.

"If you open a wormhole near the Hynerian core planets it is certain to cause some alarm."

Aeryn swallowed a dark laugh _._ John reached over and threaded his fingers through hers. "Wow," John told Pilot. "I had not thought about that. Hmm. Now that you mention it, I guess that's a thing that might happen."

"Would you like me to send your diplomatic code ahead of you? To signal your peaceful intentions?"

John Crichton smiled. "Nope."


	2. The great and bountiful empire

Crichton sat in the transport pod with Aeryn. She carried the baby in a little padded backpack that Crichton had bought on Earth a cycle ago. Moya's transport pods weren't exactly fitted out like Mom's minivan and he couldn't figure out a way to secure a car seat in there. This was the next best thing. His only regret was that it wasn't equipped with airbags. And Kevlar. Dar was a quiet little thing most of the time, absorbing his world with big blue eyes.

"Well?" said Crichton.

"The proconsul is still very upset," said Pilot.

"Terrific. That means we have something in common," said Crichton.

"The Empire has empathetically disclaimed the assassination attempt."

"I'm gonna empathetically disclaim somebody's head if I don't get some answers," said Crichton. "Can we go down or not?"

"The proconsul," said Pilot, "begs that you give him the opportunity to evacuate his wives and offspring before destroying his homeworld."

Silence.

"Did he really say that?" said Crichton.

"Yes," said Pilot.

"I'm not gonna do that," said Crichton.

"Yes, Commander," said Pilot. "I understand. How would you like me to respond?"

"Tell 'em…" He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Frell. Tell 'em I'm sorry about the surprise wormhole. Aeryn and I are not here to hurt anybody. We just wanna have a face-to-face with their head honcho. Give them our diplomatic codes and, you know, apologize again. Like—a lot. Empathetically."

"A moment," said Pilot.

Crichton sighed and drummed his fingers on the console. He bounced his leg.

"You okay?"said Aeryn.

"Mm." Crichton nodded. "You?"

"Yep," she said.

Another long minute of silence.

"How much ammo did we bring?" said Crichton.

Aeryn opened her mouth to reply—

"Commander," said Pilot, "the Hynerian Empire extends its formal invitation for you and your family to attend the Dominar and his deputies on the ground. You have been extended the usual diplomatic protections and courtesies. I should add that the Empire has… disarmed in advance of your arrival."

"Disarmed?" said Aeryn.

"They have completely powered down all of their surface-to-air weapons and grounded their flight forces," said Pilot.

Aeryn and Crichton exchanged a glance.

"They will not be able to repel an invasion from above for several arns," said Pilot.

"Is there any danger of that, Pilot?" said Aeryn.

"None," said Pilot. "We are many metras from the Scarran border, and it's been demilitarized. It's a show of good faith."

"Nifty," said Crichton. "That's a new one on me. Aeryn?"

She shook her head. "These people are very scared of us."

"You have a landing vector for your pod," said Pilot. "I'm sending it now."

Aeryn powered up the pod.

"Keep the lights on for us," said Crichton.

"Always," Pilot replied.

#

As the ramp lowered toward a red carpet, Crichton had to resist the urge to give two victory signs, though he was about a billion metras from anyone who knew or cared who Nixon was. Premahyneria was supposed to be the seat of government for the entire Hynerian Empire. Six hundred billion subjects and septillions of currency.

Crystal spires, togas, etc., were not in evidence however.

"It's a swamp," said Crichton.

Massive trees reached up to the sky. They had exposed roots like mangroves but were the size of California redwoods—or bigger. The roots plunged down into greenish, still bogwater, fetid marshland, and peat. The bluegreen canopy overhead filtered sunlight, so what made it down was a bit dark and sad, and the humidity was something else. About as bad as high summer in Cape Canaveral. It smelled of rotting wood and mushrooms. There was no one to receive them. The red carpet simply extended about a hundred feet into the woods and stopped.

"Oh, yeah, Rygel, I can see why you missed this place," Crichton muttered. "Six hundred billion subjects, Hynerian majools, and I remember when my ancestor Rygel the Eleventh…"

"Oh, stop," said Aeryn, chuckling.

"Yotz." Crichton winked at her leapt down from the transport pod. Aeryn arched her eyebrow at this demonstration of agility and climbed down at a more sedate pace, ignoring the hand he offered her at the bottom.

They stood shoulder to shoulder for a moment and then took off in opposite directions, staying close to the steaming pod. They had crushed and singed some vegetation upon landing but nothing too bad. Crichton's boots sank into the mud. The silence bothered him so he began to hum the theme song to _Gilligan's Island_. Around the nose of the transport pod he came across a vine climbing up one of the massive trees. It had interesting, fragrant purple flowers that reminded him of the passion flowers that grew back home, and before Crichton could stop himself he reached out to pick one. Aeryn would think it was cute and he thought she might be persuaded to wear it in her hair.

"A move star, the Professor and Mary Anne, here on Gilligan's—AAH."

"John!" Aeryn called.

Crichton stuck his burning fingers in his mouth. "Aw wah wagh, Awygn," he said.

"Crichton, sound off. Right now," said Aeryn.

He took his fingers out of his mouth and tapped his coms. "I said I'm all right. Watch out for the flowers. They've got… acid or something in the petals." Tiny red welts appeared on his fingertips and thumb. His eyes watered and he sniffled. Frelling allergies. His lips burned now too.

"How much of the leeth oil did you get on your fingers?"

"Not much," he said. "Man, that stings."

"Tell me you didn't get any on your mouth or mucus membranes."

Crichton sniggered. "Mucus membranes? Where are those, exactly?"

"Effective doses are measured in millidots," said Aeryn. "I think you should sit down."

"Kinda tingly," said Crichton.

"John, I'm coming around the pod at your ten o'clock."

"I'm fine," said Crichton. "Aces. Never better. This is a very pretty planet."

"Uh-huh."

"Reminds me of home," said Crichton.

"They don't have leeth oil on Earth." She was beside him with her hand under his elbow.

"Maybe we've got lakes of it," he replied. "You don't know." He sniffled. "You're very pretty." He reached out to touch her hair. "And you smell good."

"Okay," said Aeryn. "Come here."

Crichton nodded. "'s good advice. I love you."

"You too," she sight, swaying with him.

"They demilitarized the border," said Crichton.

"That's what I heard," she said.

"They sent all the Destroyers away."

"Come on."

"Look," he murmured into the crook of her neck. "Look how close I got." And then her hair turned into ravens and her skin became silk ribbons and his hands turned into light and John Crichton, Master of Stars, Destroyer of Worlds, and Spaceman Without Portfolio fell like a gigantic sack of bricks into the bog.

#

Murmurs. A woman's voice.

Crichton opened one eye, then the other. "Egg." His head was ringing, his arms and legs were buzzing, and he had stinking mud up in places he didn't even have names for.

A young woman squatted next to him, hugging her knees.

"Eggggg," Crichton groaned.

The girl rolled her eyes. "Oh, stop whining. You're fine, you big yenti."

"I feel like I licked an electrical socket."

"Pretty drad, huh?" She grinned. "That's a life experience you won't forget. And check this out." She waved her hands in front of his face. They became pale smears in the air. "You get tracers for, like, six arns."

"Great." He laid back in the soft, warm mud and folded his hands over his stomach. "Just leave me here."

"You need a drink," said Chiana. She hopped onto her feet and extended a hand. He scowled up at her for a moment, then let her help him up. He tried to dust himself off and then gave it up as a bad job. He was still standing in an inch of swamp water.

"Hey, old man," said Chiana, shifting her weight from foot to foot.

"Hey, little girl," he replied, pressing the heels of his palms over his burning eyes.

"I overthrew the government," she said.

"No surprise there," said Crichton. "Can you not… move so much?"

She laughed. She was different. She wore a white silk shift with tiny gray leaves embroidered at the hem and neck. A simple silver circlet was tucked into her hair. She seemed fresh and young and innocent.

"You look incredible," he said.

"And you look like dren," said Chiana.

He nodded and tried to wipe his face. "Where's Aeryn?"

"Handling the Hynerian delegation."

"Yeah? How's that going?"

"So far? No wars, no riots, no guns, no bombs. I feel like I don't know who you are anymore."

"We're growing up," said Crichton.

"The narl got big," said Chiana. "He looks like you."

"Not that big," said Crichton.

"He's gonna be tall," said Chiana. "Come on, she's worried about you."

He followed her down the red carpet. The sun had gotten higher and the air seemed even more still and heavy. Crichton looked over his shoulder at the transport pod. Someday they were going to change their identities and start a new life. The carpet terminated in a curved ramp that corkscrewed down into the ground. Chiana strode down without any hesitation. Crichton followed.

Down and down they went and the ceiling rose higher and higher until they were in the center of a limestone and quartz cavern. Water dripped from the ceiling and trailed down the walls. The cavern had been cleared but Crichton sensed activity and furtive movement all around them. He found Aeryn Sun at the bottom of the ramp. He put a hand on Dar's soft head—smearing him with a little goop—and then came around her left side.

Aeryn squeezed his wrist and leaned over to speak into his ear. "Twelve Royal Guards concealed around the cavern on the upper walkways, staying low and moving around. We are under intense surveillance and something is very wrong." She wrinkled her nose at him and wiped her hand on her pants.

"We okay?" said Crichton.

"For now," she said.

"Chiana?"

"I don't know."

As they spoke an elderly, portly Hynerian in a throne chair came buzzing toward them. He was wearing thick purple robes and a tall crown. His throat was heavy with jewelry, his fingers decorated with rings. He held a short scepter. "Welcome, welcome my dear friends! It has been far too long."

"Uh, yeah," said Crichton. "Great. Cool."

"It is my pleasure to extend to you the goodwill of the Hynerian Empire."

He came right up close to them, the edge of his throne chair nearly bumping into them. He showed them something in his hand. Two silver balls. He squeezed them together and they cracked. "Smile, frellniks," Rygel hissed. "We have about ninety microts before these distortion pods run out and they can hear us again."

Crichton and Aeryn both plastered on big friendly smiles. Rygel extended a hand.

"No way," Crichton muttered.

"Just do it," said Rygel, and Aeryn stepped on his foot. He grabbed Rygel's hand and bent over it in a low bow. "Hey, congrats, man," Crichton muttered. "Six months later and, tada, you're Grand High Poobah of the Black Lagoon." He narrowed his eyes. "I wonder how that happened."

"Are you on drugs?" Rygel said through his teeth.

"Maybe," said Crichton.

Aeryn bowed over his hand as well. "Are you a prisoner?"

"No," said Rygel. They were all still smiling at each other.

"We can get you out of here," said Crichton. "Moya is here in high orbit."

"Don't you dare interfere," said Rygel.

"We gotta talk to you," said Crichton.

"Later," said Rygel.

"There is no—"

"Twenty microts," said Rygel. "Because of your unexpected and extremely rude intrusion I have not had time to plan for your visit. Your quarters will be under surveillance and I cannot guarantee your safety. Whatever you see, hear, or think, do not to do anything stupid. And please, for the love of the gods and all their mistresses, as difficult as this may be for you two, try, _try_ not to destroy my life."

"Sparky, they came to my _house_. I have the bodies of four Hynerian assassins on ice the transport pod and—"

Rygel's thin nostrils flared. "Bathe," he ordered. "You can't possibly appear in court like that."

"We're not appearing in any court, Rygel. I just wanna talk to you."

"You'll appear wherever and whenever I tell you it's necessary for you to appear," said Rygel. "You're in my house now, human, and I'll trouble you not to forget it. I'll tell you when we can speak freely. Smile. You're happy. I'm happy. Everybody's happy because we're all such good friends."

Aeryn said, "Is Chiana safe?"

"None of us are safe and it's Crichton's frelling fault," said Rygel, simpering. "Keep your mouths _shut_. Time." He cleared his throat. "…And it will be my honor to receive you at a state dinner in four arns, after you have had the opportunity to refresh yourself in private and recover from your long journeys." He smiled and there was a glass knife in his eyes. "I hope that is acceptable."

Crichton glared at him.

"We're honored, Your Eminence," said Aeryn. "I hope you know that I share John's… strong feelings on this matter."

"Most gratifying," said Rygel, folding his hands. "Chiana will show you to your rooms."

Rygel nodded at Chiana, who beckoned them.

"Chi," said Aeryn, so softly that only she and Crichton could hear.

Chiana pretended to cough. "Do what he says," she muttered through her hand.

They paced her through the tall spiral chamber and deeper into the damp cave.

"Politics," said Crichton. "That's the one where they force you to build the prison they're gonna lock you in, right?"

"Bright side," said Aeryn. "This time you won't have to marry any princesses."

"They're polygamists," said Crichton. "I'm staying indoors."


	3. Deeper into the drink

The difference between day and night was hard to judge under the surface of Premahyneria, but it felt like night, with their stomachs full and their limbs loose and weary. Outside the window of the royal guest chamber the capital city spread out above and below them. The reception cavern had been large but this part of the city was far larger. They could not see the top, and at the bottom was a huge underground lake that lapped against the walls. Hynerians constantly dived in and out to fish, to socialize, to worship and to lay eggs. They took the water and used it to melt the soil and expand the empire outward, downward, whatever.

John and Aeryn sat in a round window looking down on the activity. She leaned back against his chest and he played with her hair. His heartbeat drummed against her back. They were both still dressed and still packing heat. Neither was eager to disarm. Dar laid on a soft blanket on the floor beside them, on his back, playing with the Moya-mobile John had made from ship's parts. There was another reason for their closeness, besides the usual one: the Galaxy had yet to invent a surveillance device that could capture what lovers murmured in each other's ears.

"Did you enjoy yourself at the state dinner?" said Aeryn.

"Oh, yes, the majools were excellent. And how about those cucumber sandwiches?"

"I saw you talking to the proconsul."

"And the junior secretary. And the propaganda minister. I think she wanted me."

"You were having fun."

"I always have fun," said John.

"I don't like being kept," said Aeryn. "What do you think is going on?"

"I think," said John, "that Rygel is afraid I'm gonna figure out why he's here before he figures out why we're here. What do you think?"

"I want to go home," said Aeryn.

"Okay," he said brightly. "Let's do that."

"We can't leave Rygel and Chiana."

"Rygel dug his own mudhole," said John. "God knows what scam he's trying to pull."

"Maybe he's serious."

"Then we really _should_ go home," said John. Their coms ticked twice. "Oh."

 _Here we go,_ thought Aeryn. "You're planning something."

"Well." He kissed the back of her neck and she shivered. "This morning I woke up and remembered it was your birthday."

She laughed at the sudden change of subject. "All right."

He tucked her hair behind her ear and nibbled the lobe. "And I thought, you know, what do I get for the girl who has everything? I mean, I could take you out for a good time."

"Eh," said Aeryn.

He shrugged. "Or we could stay in and have a really good time."

"Mm. Better."

"Right? I thought so. Or—" He paused. There was a loud electric hum and then all the lights went out. Not just in their room. In the whole capital city. A moment later the lights came on again. "Or I could take you someplace exotic, and make sure that we had a really, really private room," he said, without whispering. He got out of the window and sat up.

Aeryn grinned. "You disabled their surveillance system."

"I just do what I think will make you happy," said John. "Wanna go hunting?"

"How long do we have?" Aeryn said.

"They'll have to go circuit by circuit and replace all the breakers," said John. "It'll be two arns before they can even figure out how Pilot frelled their communications."

"Who takes Dar?"

"Let's throw for it," he said.

Aeryn threw paper. John threw scissors. She picked up their dozy child and bound him to her with a cloth. "I'm recon," said Aeryn.

"And I'll go have that overdue chat with Lord Slugworth." John held up two fingers. "Two arns."

"One and a half," she said. "Rain check on the really good time."

"God I love you."

They kissed. John put his fingers to his lips and touched the top of Dar's head.

"Love you," she said. "Only—"

"What?" said John.

"I don't have a birthday," said Aeryn.

"Ah, honey." John checked the cartridge on his pulse pistol. He gave her a fierce grin. "Everybody's got a birthday." He pointed at her and winked. And then he was gone.

"Be careful," said Aeryn, suddenly alone.

#

John would go down to the Dominar's chambers, two levels below them, so Aeryn decided to go up. She strode down the High Hall with some confidence. When Rygel said _every courtesy_ , he'd meant it. They were allowed free travel in the palace and grounds, free access to their transport pod, and they had been permitted to keep their guns and coms, though that had been a case of averting a diplomatic incident. Both she and John wore silver sigil rings that controlled the doors and marked them as personal friends of the Dominar. Aeryn thought Rygel was trying to recruit them; John just thought he was scared drenless.

She did not have a specific agenda. She wanted the lay of the land: geography and firing lines, potential allies, details of the situation. She judged the territory as neutral-to-benevolent, but it was also uncertain. "In a potentially hostile zone," she said to Dar, "it's important to stay alert. The further you can project your senses the better off you are. Are you alert, little one?" She bent down to check on him. He peeked out of his wrapping. He had one hand stuffed into his mouth. "Well you have your father's eyes," she said, patting his warm back. "Let's hope you got the Sebacean sense of vision." In her estimation it was only right that D'argo get the best of both of them: her superior senses, his resistance to heat delirium, her self-control, his kindness. "Incidentally," she whispered, "I may have mentioned it before, but try not to grow up to be a lunatic. I'm not sure I can manage two."

The baby gurgled and nuzzled her.

Most of all she hoped that he would never in his life hear the word _wormhole,_ but that was not too likely. Wormholes had entered the history books in a big way. But it would be a long time before Dar had to have some kind of formal education—three or four cycles at least. Not long enough. But maybe long enough to prepare him. Their child would, of course, be unusually intelligent and resourceful.

"We're here," she said. She ducked under a low door and into a dimly-lit cavern.

Every palace had guards and soldiers, and so every palace had a place like this: a place for off-duty men and women to socialize, spend their wages and find someone to recreate with. A soldier's bar was a hotbed of intrigue and a cesspool of rumor and innuendo. A great place to begin an intelligence-gathering mission. She sashayed up to the bar and dropped some brandar tiles in front of the robot bartender. "Fillip nectar, please."

The bartender's eyes glowed dark red at the baby bundled against her chest.

"He'll have two," said Aeryn. "Make sure to include some nipples."

Robots, she thought. Who would put robots in charge of their bar? Was that service? She popped the top of the fillip bottle and took the smallest sip. She spun around on her seat and rested her elbows on the bar. It was almost all Hynerian palace guards. Enough Sebacean mercenaries that she didn't stand out—much. Since the war a good number of Peacekeepers had quit the military and gone freelance, and it was no longer very unusual to find them protecting anyone with money—or so she had heard. Hynerian royalty certainly counted. She wondered what the endgame of all that would be. The end of Sebacean isolationism? The collapse of the blood bias?

She could only hope.

A female sat elbow-to-elbow with her at the bar. She was dressed in a tiny gray tank top and an even smaller skirt, showing off a fresh tattoo on her belly and a diamond in her belly button. The pretty circlet she had worn in court had been replaced by a single silver earring, though the dense Hynerian script on it still marked her as the Dominar's favorite.

"Chiana," said Aeryn, without making eye contact.

"You brought the narl?"

Aeryn put the bottle to her lips again. "Where should I leave him? With Pilot?"

"Is Crichton with you?"

Aeryn shook her head.

"Why are you here?" said Chiana.

"Why are you here?" Aeryn replied.

She pouted. "Me? I'm just lonely."

"Just tell me. I won't judge you. Are you on Rygel's side," Aeryn asked, "our ours?"

"We have sides now?"

"Apparently."

"Then I'm on whichever side is going to be the most fun. So far, Rygel's winning."

"We were attacked," said Aeryn. "By Hynerian assassins. They found us in the Uncharted Territories and they got onboard Moya. They got close, Chi."

Chiana was silent for a moment. Then she swallowed. "And you think Rygel would do that?"

"No," said Aeryn. "But I'm sure he knows who and why."

"Where is Crichton?" Chiana asked.

"Busy."

"Do I need to call the Palace Guard?"

"Only the ones you don't like," said Aeryn.

"I wish you hadn't come," said Chiana. "You should have just stayed out of it."

"Yes, I'm sure you and Rygel have it all zipped up," said Aeryn. She finished her bottle of nectar and got up. "Catch you later."

Chiana caught her arm. She stood up and nestled close. "Don't go."

"For frell's sake, Chiana." Aeryn closed her hands on the girl's wrists.

"I'm not free to speak," Chiana murmured in Aeryn's ear. "Things get really knotted-up around here when I speak." She squeezed Aeryn's hands.

"We can help you," said Aeryn.

"I don't need your help," she said. "I'm doing okay. I have a life. It's strange and complicated and it's—not what I imagined. But I don't want to go back to Moya. I can't."

"Fine," said Aeryn.

Chiana embraced her. "Go to the Royal Observatory. Here's an access chip." She folded Aeryn's hand around a small metal coaster.

"What's there?"

"Something you need to see," Chiana whispered. "I'm done."

"Chi—" Aeryn started.

She kissed Dar on the forehead. "You give it to 'em, narl. For your Aunt Chi." She put her cheek to Aeryn's and hugged her. "Tell Crichton he's still my best guy."

Aeryn sighed. "He loves you too."

"I know." Chiana turned around and tossed a fistful of brandar tiles at the bartender. She made a looping gesture. The music got loud and hard, with a thumping baseline. Chiana threw a rueful smile over her shoulder and shimmyed over to a young Sebacean. She hooked a finger around his belt and dragged him onto the dance floor.

Aeryn was halfway out the door before she realized she'd been pickpocketed.

#

The Royal Observatory was on the highest level of Premahyneria's underground palace. As Aeryn climbed stairs and hopped elevators, she began to see windows. She was ascending a mountain. Real windows looking out onto the wild and muddy surface. Purple fields of leethflower grew everywhere in a circular crop pattern. Farming.

"That was your Kaa D'argo's dream," said Aeryn to her son. "Can you imagine?"

The baby fussed and his little legs spasmed.

"Don't worry, little one," said Aeryn. "It's not for us."

She stepped off the elevator and into a large round edifice. It was constructed of cut stone and metal scaffolding: the first construction she had seen on the planet that was neither cave nor lake nor swamp. One half of the circle was rusting metal balconies; they went up three levels.

The other half of the circle was—well, it was a pearlescent screen.

"Hynerians didn't build this," Aeryn murmured. This was Sebacean work. A telescope for scientific measurements. It had not been maintained for some years, but there were signs of recent activity. Sagging banners and flags on the balcony walls. A dusty podium.

She went over to the control node and put Chiana's key on its flat surface. She settled it into the lock and turned it slowly.

The screen flickered, flickered, and—

" _Frell_ _me_!" She backed up suddenly, tripped over a cable and fell onto her backside. The baby burst into loud, frightened screams. Aeryn checked him for injuries, curled her arm around him and stroked his head. "Don't look," she told him. But she could not help but look.

Projected on the screen, throwing off measurements and equations in Sebacean astronomical shorthand, was a—what _was_ that? It was like a horrible burn hole up among the stars. Not a wormhole. Not a wormhole weapon either. It didn't grow and expand like John's wormhole weapon. It wasn't, it wasn't, it _was not_. Her hands trembled. Her stomach churned. It had painfully bright red edges and a center like the bluest Earth sky. It would be very bad for John to be alone when he saw this.

She touched her coms.

"Don't," said a voice from the dark.

Her pulse gun was in her hand, and her arm was curled around Dar's body to shield him. Every hair in her body stood up. "Show yourself!"

"Peace," said the voice. "Upon John Crichton's soul, I mean you no harm."

A figure emerged from the shadows. He stepped into the red light of the screen.

"That's far enough," said Aeryn.

The man showed her his empty hands. He turned slowly. He was unarmed. Not that Scorpius had ever needed a weapon to hurt the people she loved.

"Stay where you are." Aeryn holstered her gun. "And don't ever swear by his soul again."

"My apologies," said Scorpius. "But there are so very few things we both cherish, Aeryn Sun."


	4. Chamber of solitude

Crichton studied the map in his hand, then strode down the hallway and pushed open the heavy gilded doors that separated the royal chambers from the rest of the palace. At the guard station two young Hynerian guards playing a game of cards in the Mirror Hall snorfled and stumbled over each other to stand at attention. They pulled at their long whiskers and elbowed each other.

"Good evening, ser!"

"May we help you, ser?"

"Do you require an audience with the Dominar, ser?"

"Third string, huh?" said Crichton. "Why do they always put the worst ones on at night? Is it a union thing?"

"He's… indisposed, ser, Mr. Lord Crichton, ser."

"How about you kids go take a potty break." Crichton drew his pulse pistol. "I'll take over guard duties."

The two amphibians bugged eyes at each other.

Crichton smiled. " _Scoot_."

The Hynerians blanched and buzzed away, bumping into each other in their hurry to get outside the chamber door. Crichton looked at Ruby. Then he arched an eyebrow at his own reflection in the Mirror Hall. His teeth were clean, his nails were trimmed and, overall, he was the very model of a modern American astronaut, all fed on milk chocolate and Wonder bread and the love of a good woman. He looked very sincere and normal and not vicious at all. He looked back over his shoulder where the doors were still swinging. A year ago he would have been on the floor getting a hard boot in the chin if he'd tried something like that. Or maybe even a pulse blast to the brain.

Heh. Having the rep to back up your threats was pretty cool.

He used his sigil ring to open Rygel's gilded door and stepped inside.

The Dominar's chamber looked like it was carved out of a geode. Quartz crystals glittered in soft orange light from luminescent fungi. The cavern was damp and chilly. A small peat fire had been stoked in a marble firepit in the center of the room, but it had been allowed to bank down. Evidence of a recent debauch was everywhere: clothing thrown around the room, empty wine bottles, plates with the remains of a large meal, burnt-up incense sticks, jewels everywhere. Among this mess Rygel snored on a purple silk cushion, his mouth slightly open, his golden scepter still clutched in his little green fist.

Crichton came to the side of the cushion and squatted down. He leaned all the way over until he was speaking directly in the Hynerian's ear. "Rygel."

Rygel woke with a gasp and a shudder.

Crichton grabbed him by the throat, swung him around and pushed him up against the wall, hard enough that the king would be seeing stars for a minute or so. He put the barrel of the pulse pistol to Rygel's small head. "Buckwheat, Sparky, Fluffy, Peanut, how you doin'?" he hissed. Rygel wriggled and whined. "You know for such an important person your guards suck."

"Get… frelled… Crichton," Rygel gasped.

Crichton lifted Rygel and slammed him into the wall again. "Well, let's talk about that, _Dominar_. Last time we had a little face-to-face you were getting ready to fight for your throne. You and Chiana. Chiana and you. And I figure that's probably a doomed escapade but it's your life. Until all of a sudden through no fault of mine it becomes _my life_ all over again. They came to Moya, you corrupt old bastard. They came to Moya, they hurt Aeryn, and they got _this close_ to my kid." Crichton took the glass spear from his pocket and got it less than an inch from Rygel's eye. "Tell me it wasn't your fault."

Rygel made a hacking noise and expelled a glob of green slobber onto Crichton's face. Crichton didn't even flinch. Rygel's eyes were tearing up but his face was stony. "Go ahead and murder me if you think you've got the mivvonks for it."

Crichton stood there for a moment longer. Then he let Rygel go and backed off. The old frog fell to the floor and huddled there, shivering and coughing. Crichton wiped the slime from his face with his sleeve and holstered Ruby. He looked down at Rygel's huddled form and then blinked and looked away.

"Lunatic probacto." Rygel hefted himself to his webbed feet. "How dare you put your hands on me. I could have you executed. I should."

"Maybe you should," said Crichton. "What the hell did you do?"

"I used all the resources in my arsenal."

Crichton took a deep breath and let it out through his nose. Calm. He was working on calm. "Did you tell them I gave you wormhole weapons?"

"During the course of my ascension, I may have… allowed certain parties to draw their own conclusions." Rygel smiled a serpent's smile.

"Oh my God," said Crichton. He sat down on the cool floor and gripped his temples.

Rygel was silent—and patient.

"They came for me," Crichton murmured, "because they think I'm backing you."

"Mm. And how many small bags did you and Aeryn need to clean up the bodies?"

"Screw you, Rygel. You frelled and used me."

"You bet your huge pink ass I did. And you should show a little gratitude."

"Gratitude? Damn it, I was _out_!"

"Grow up," said Rygel, curling his lip. He called his throne chair over and climbed in it. "You don't get to be out. None of us do. Ever. While you've been pretending that you can frell off with your wife, I've been handling your affairs, in addition to my own infinitely more important and valuable ones. Do you have any idea what it's been like? Of course you don't because just like your Peacekeeper cousins you think the Galaxy stops turning when you stop paying attention to it."

He whirled around Crichton, his tone harsh and persuasive. "The only reason you've had any peace at all is because of me. The only reason Chiana isn't in a Scorvian torture chamber or a Nebari cleansing center right now is because of my rule. And the only reason your precious home planet isn't in cinders right now is because anybody who attacked Earth would be starting a war with _me_. Which would you prefer? Being the target of my weak and desperate enemies? Or watching the _whole universe_ get together to eat your heart? Because that's what's next, if you can't pick a mark and stay on it."

Rygel lowered himself down to look in his old friend's eyes. "Look at me. Look at my face," he said. Deep down below the greed and the pettiness his bloodshot yellow eyes were heavy with a knowledge that Crichton could scarcely imagine. "This isn't Space Chase with a few PK defectors in the Uncharted Territories. You've dealt yourself into the real game now. It's every day until you're dead. And you _will not_ be able to brass your way out of it. That's the cost of what you did. What _you_ did, Crichton. To yourself, me, Chiana, Moya and—"

Crichton lifted his hand to make Rygel stop. "Don't say it."

"I don't have to." He squeezed Crichton's shoulder. "Congratulations on waking up like an emperor."

Crichton was about to speak, to argue, but then his coms crackled and he forgot everything he was about to say. He homed in on his wife's voice as a compass needle to true north. And then his attention wavered, just a bit.

The other voice coming over the channel was Scorpius's.


	5. Time wounds all heals

Aeryn pulled herself to her feet. She felt like an ice cube was stuck in the back of her throat. Who was she looking at here? Ally? Enemy? Both? Neither? Why Scorpius would continue to maintain any interest at all in John mystified her. He couldn't make the wormhole weapon anymore, and Scorpius knew that. The wormhole weapon was useless anyway, and he knew that. John's other skills were far beyond the ordinary, and they had clear military value. But John would die before he let anyone use him that way. Scorpius above all the others knew that if the variables lined up John was capable and would not hesitate.

So, what?

"The words you are looking for," said Scorpius, "are solider, survivor—and protector." He stood stiffly, and he had a fresh split lip and an old black eye. Still at war. Always at war.

She scoffed. "You're here to protect John?"

"I have always protected John."

This was odd. With Scorpius she always had to resist the urge to speak freely about her husband. Scorpius _knew_. How complicated John was; how resilient; how unique; how vulnerable. They shared too much knowledge and it made her nervous. Scorpius had every tool and skill necessary to destroy her beloved and it always reminded her: so did she.

"But, believe it or not, I do have other interests. Scorvians. Charrads. The future."

"There's always someone to fight, isn't there," said Aeryn.

Scorpius inclined his head at her in agreement. His gaze caught on Dar and lingered, and Aeryn pulled the wrapping around the baby and turned to hide him. A soft smile played on his lizard lips.

"Did you make that thing?" said Aeryn, nodding at the image on the telescope screen.

"Hardly," said Scorpius. "I have heard from reliable sources that Crichton is responsible for the Hynerian Anomaly. That he created it to support Rygel the Sixteenth's claims to the throne."

"It's not true," she said.

"Yes, I know." He looked up at the Anomaly and folded his hands behind his back. "I can't imagine that involvement in the minutiae of Hynerian politics would appeal to him. I personally suspect that it is either a natural phenomenon or an elaborate fraud perpetrated by the Hynerian royal. But there it is and there it has remained. So I knew that you must come. Eventually. I have been waiting for nearly half a cycle to speak to you."

"Well here I am," said Aeryn. "Speak."

But now that he had a captive audience, Scorpius seemed uncertain of where to begin. She sensed dark gaps and canyons in this talk of protecting and surviving. He hadn't spent the last six months on Premahyneria and Aeryn suspected that he wasn't even really here now. On the deck of a command carrier, more likely, projecting his image and his mind back here. He had some Scarran capabilities in that area.

"There are things you don't know," said Scorpius.

"There are things I don't want to know," she said. "That's why we left when we did."

"That's not how it works," Scorpius told her. "You don't get to choose."

"But we do get to try," said Aeryn. "And if you try long enough…" But her heart wasn't in it. John might hope that they could turn their backs on the worlds forever but she had been waiting for the truth to reach him for a long while now. She had formidable powers of patience and refused to push him but the stars didn't wait for you to wise up.

Scorpius said, "Commandant Grayza is fatally ill."

Silence. Aeryn found a folding chair and sat down in it. "So?"

"Did John tell you—"

She went to a frosty and predatory place in her head. She knew what Grayza had done to John. She knew how it had damaged him. There were moments, few and far between, but moments, when he couldn't touch his own child. When he could barely touch her. "Yes. So? She doesn't need to be alive to maintain the peace. I hope it takes a really long time and they bury her somewhere cold."

"Hypothetical," said Scorpius. "What would John do if his family was threatened? You. Moya. The… infant."

"What wouldn't he do," she said. "Are we threatened?"

"Mm. Would he make the wormhole weapon?"

"Of course," she said.

"How? I thought he no longer had that knowledge."

"John can have any knowledge he wants," she said. "He'd pull the universe apart atom by atom if he thought it would protect us."

"It's about choice," said Scorpius. "It's about trying. It's about what he wants."

"I think you should leave now," said Aeryn.

"I don't protect him for his sake," said Scorpius.

"Yes, that's the difference between us."

The old Peacekeeper spoke carefully, focused completely on Aeryn and the baby. "Who controls what John Crichton wants?"

Aeryn stared at him for a moment. Then she cracked. A snigger burst from her and then she started to laugh. She laughed so hard that her ribs burned and her face hurt and tears sprang to her eyes. "Oh, no," she said, still wracked with laughter. "You can't possibly think it's _me_."

His expression was stony.

She shook her head. "You poor man. All this time, all this pain and suffering and loss, and you still don't understand us." She wiped her eyes. "I have never been able to make John do anything or not do anything. All I do for him is… I stay. I know what he is I stay."

"It is that quality that is required now," said Scorpius.

"What quality? Love?"

Pause. "Yes."

A dark smile still played on Aeryn's lips. "Leave my family alone." She stood and dusted herself off. It was getting late. Her baby needed food and rest and she needed to see her husband. "You don't have the chops. Thanks for the Galactic news bulletin though." She threw one last long glance at the projection of the Hynerian Anomaly. What a load of dren. "Goodbye, Scorpius."

He waited until her back was turned to drive the knife in. "Grayza has a daughter."

She looked over her shoulder.

"An infant," he said. "You do take my meaning."

 _No._ Her stomach churned.

"You and your half-human offspring are not his only pressure point," said Scorpius.

"Frell you," breathed Aeryn, her head swimming.

"It isn't a secret," said Scorpius. "Anyway it is not well-kept. High Command knows. The Scarrans know—or suspect. Likely the Charrads as well. When Grayza dies the child will be unprotected."

She choked back nausea. "Do you have _any idea_ what will happen if you try to—"

"Once again you misjudge me," said Scorpius. "I don't want to force him. I want to stop him. I have seen what happens when Crichton is motivated by love. I have no desire to live in a Galaxy whose existence is predicated on his fear, grief and rage. I think it wise to go to Peacekeeper High Command and assert your rights in whatever manner you feel would be effective. I advise running. Your denial and selfishness have already wasted time. And the next wisest course is to…" He smiled. "Well, it's to kill you all. Isn't it?"

She embraced her baby's tiny warm body and cradled his sweet head to her chest.

#

In Rygel's royal chamber Crichton was shifting.

When Scorpius first appeared Aeryn had tagged her coms, opening the channel between them. The half-Scarran's melodious voice commanded Crichton's full attention, and he had he had turned from Rygel, tipping his head, his mouth slightly open and a hard word lost on his lips. His hand gripping the butt of his pulse gun so tightly that his knuckles turned white. Rygel had buzzed away and kindled the firebowl, watching Crichton carefully. This Scorpius-Crichton-wormhole business was dangerous. It required precise and gentle handling, especially when Aeryn was not there.

And then Scorpius had said, in that controlled and clipped tone that overrode all of Crichton's normal defenses, _Grayza has a daught-._

Rygel tapped his old Moya coms and said, "Pilot."

The voice cut off but far too late.

Crichton blinked. "Turn it back on."

Rygel only watched.

"Rygel. Pilot. Rygel, please. Where are they?"

"Steady, human," Rygel murmured.

"Did you know?" said Crichton, his voice wavering. He tapped his belt. "I have to go. Fix my coms."

"No," said Rygel, and Pilot must have been thinking because the room stayed silent.

"How did Scorpius—no. Whatever. I don't care. I need to… I gotta… I gotta…"

"No. Crichton. Listen to your dominar."

Crichton turned away and got down on his knees and threw up. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Turn my coms back on, Rygel, please, tell Pilot—"

"The child's name is Aya Telanor."

Crichton blinked and swallowed hard. "You knew?"

"Everyone knows, Crichton."

He put his head in his hands. "Oh, _God_."

"She doesn't belong to you," said Rygel.

"I don't have the time of day for your bullshit, Rygel. Fix my coms."

"She is the baby daughter of a dead general and a Peacekeeper Commandant and as far as the rest of the Galaxy knows, _you work for me_ ," said Rygel. "For once in your life, do the math."

The math. The math was that he was under attack from every angle and there was no safe place to go. The math was his heart was being carved out with a rusty spoon as the headline performance of an all-singing, all-dancing interstellar variety show. "Aya," he said.

"Yes. And she is not yours. That is propaganda designed to flush you out."

Crichton nodded and bit his lip, the predator coming back into his expression and bearing. He gave Rygel a shaky, cruel smile. "Oh, I think that's likely to happen, Rygel."

The old king narrowed his eyes. "If you try anything then I will have you locked up. Do not test me, Crichton. I have more children than you do."

"Scorpius knows," he said.

"Scorpius would be happy if the only voice you ever listened to was his. Tell me I'm wrong."

Crichton shook his head. "You're not wrong."

"He has every reason to lie."

"And I have every reason to trust you," said Crichton. "Is that what you're gonna say?"

"I am a pragmatist," said Rygel. "But even I wouldn't ask you to abandon a child."

"Mm."

"I wouldn't manipulate you into a political kidnapping either. I do have some principles. Settle down."

"It doesn't—"

"Settle _down_ ," said Rygel.

"It doesn't matter. If she is. If she isn't."

"Of course it matters."

"No," said Crichton. "It really doesn't. Not long from now she's going to be a baby girl with no parents and what people _think_ is gonna matter a hell of a lot more than what _is_. We have to do something. She can't possibly stay with the Peacekeepers."

"She can," said Rygel. "If that's where she belongs."

"Nobody belongs with them."

"All right, then, since you've appointed yourself the arbitrator of where people belong, I'll muster an army and we'll liberate them all."

He rolled his eyes. "That's not what I'm talking about. Rygel, I've got to see her."

"I won't allow it."

"Sparky, I wasn't asking."


End file.
